An Almost Thanksgiving Miracle!
by marianna
Summary: A little oneshot set RIGHT now. Not so much with the fluffy, but definete LoVe overtones.


Disclaimer: I don't own any form of _Veronica Mars_, although, y'know, that would be cool. Christmas present anyone? Or ooh, I would take Jason Dohring…

November 24th 2005. _Thanksgiving_. To normal people, this means overeating, and an annoying amount of family time. Sneaking out at night what that awesomely cool older cousin that only comes around this once a year. A time when the petty disgustingness of the every day is discarded, and a real familial bond is formed. That, or a _Hallmark_ card.

But not to Logan Echolls; oh _no_. With a father in prison for murdering his ex girlfriend, a mother floating somewhere close to the bottom of the East River, and a sister tanning topless on one sunny beach or another, he has nowhere to go. And for the first time ever, he wishes he did.

_Clack. Clack. Clack. "Logan! Logan _come on_! I can't _believe_ you're taking longer than I did. You do know we're only going to Veronica's right?" Her voice permeates through the heavy wood of his bathroom door, and scowling silently he ignores it, grimacing as he adds another layer of gel to his spiked hair. "Logan, I'm gonna leave without you! And what will you do then? _Walk_ to her house?" He can hear her sigh, but after a moment, the clack, clack, clacking of her heels resumes, and he knows she's pacing again. He glances at himself in the mirror, wiping a stray glob of gel away from his forehead, and checking his teeth. He doesn't know why he's so on edge about spending Thanksgiving at Veronica's, after all- "You're not still upset about your parents, are you? They won those cruise tickets, and you know, with your dad's new movie starting production next month, and your mom doing those Days of Our Lives spots, there really was no other time that they could squeeze it in." She sounds concerned, and he sighs. Maybe _that's_ it; his first Thanksgiving without his parents. But as he bends to grab the floss, a sharp pain shocks its way through him from the welt on his back-a remnant of his father's massive hangover the night before, and he sighs again. Nope, it's _definitely_ not his parents._

_"Just a sec, Lil." He calls, snapping a piece of floss from the canister and beginning to work on his teeth. He hears her phone ring, senses her exasperated tone as she flips it open._

_"Yeah, 'Ronica, we're coming, we're coming. But my _male model_ of a boyfriend suddenly decided he desperately needed to look _super awesome_ for dinner." She laughs throatily, and he gulps, his cheeks burning, trying to make it look as though he hasn't spent the last 47 minutes in the bathroom. "…yeah, sure Veronica, if he ever comes out of the bathroom, we'll stop for soda. Yeah. Ok. Kiss kiss!" _Veronica_. His spine tingles at the mention of her name, and he sighs, shaking his head. _This is a very bad sign_. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he opens the door, walking towards her. "Oh my god, you're ready?" She exclaims sarcastically, grinning. "And you look so _pretty_!" She runs her hands appreciatively up his arms and pulls him down for a kiss. "Come on, lover boy," She murmurs turning. "We have to grab soda on the way to Veronica's." _Veronica again._ He cringes as his pulse speeds_. It doesn't mean anything, Echolls_, he tells himself. _She_ doesn't mean a thing…_

His phone, precariously perched on the edge of the bedside table buzzes loudly, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Hello?" He answers, not bothering to look at the screen. It's probably Trina, calling to try and sell him on her expertly rewritten screenplay proposal for the UPN movie of the week, featuring the infamous Echolls family. _Oh joy_.

"Logan?" _Veronica_. Her voice is soft, and even through the phone line it sends tingles up his spine.

"Veronica Mars," He responds, falling back against the mattress, his folded arms a makeshift pillow. "To what do I owe this express pleasure? Oooh, did something blow up? Did someone _die_? Because you know, I _am_ an evil doer." His tone is sharper than he'd intended, he can tell by her sharp intake of breath, but he doesn't apologize. He's too far-gone. Too alone.

"It's Thanksgiving, Logan." She mumbles quietly. "I just thought…I thought maybe you wouldn't want to be alone."

"Why would you think-" He starts to ask, but of course, he already knows. _Duncan_. The angel to his evildoer; the white to his black; the one person in the entire world who would care, and, who in turn would ask his ex girlfriend to check up on him. _How _pathetic.

"With Duncan in Napa at his parents, I knew you'd be there all alone, and I didn't want you to be." He can picture her movements; can see her moving around her kitchen in his mind, lightly brushing the hair/sweat/flour combination away from her forehead, biting her lip, trying to keep the phone in the crook between her neck. Unbidden, a buried memory surfaces, and for a moment all he can do is remember kissing that crook, running his hands all over her…

"I don't need a babysitter, Veronica." He mutters angrily, as the soft clearing of her throat rouses him.

"I never thought you did." She responds, and though her voice is soft, he can sense the steeliness beneath it.

"What that means though, Mars, is that I don't need you calling here, pretending to care. Enjoy your perfect turkey dinner, with your father who you have a perfect relationship with, and just leave me the hell alone." He moves to flip the lid down, surprised at his level of anger.

"Logan wait," She exclaims, and even though his fingers are twitching to end the call and be done with it, he can't. He _could_ never get Veronica out of his head; no matter how hard he tried.

"What? Are you going to sit there and tell me how _im_perfect your life is? Your _father_ didn't kill your _girlfriend_. Your _mother_ didn't _commit suicide_ by jumping into the _ocean_. You win in the 'your parents don't suck' race. And hey, you got out of dating me." His voice has gotten low, and tears prick the corners of her eyes. "You've got Duncan. Who, though squeaky clean, can get kind of pesky sometimes. Especially when he asks you to do things like this, which are obviously against your will." He isn't fishing for compliments. He isn't trying to slip her up or win the sympathy card, and her heart breaks for him, because she knows what he says is true.

"Can I just come in?" She pleads into the phone, and his pulse quickens.

"C-come in? Come in where?" His voice is panicked, and he closes his eyes in agony. _I _so_ do not need this right now_. Standing, he rushes towards the door, half of him hoping she won't be standing there to witness the void.

"Hi," She murmurs, as the door swings open. There is a hopeful smile on her lips, and he bites his lip, gesturing her in. Walking to the coffee table, she sets down the cardboard box she's been holding. "Being off the phone sure makes holding that sucker easier," She starts, bending and beginning to unpack it. "But putting it down is just _so_ relieving." Rolling her eyes and grinning, she nods him over.

"I can uh, imagine. It looked heavy." He replies, cringing and rubbing his eyes. Great_ response, Echolls._

"I did bring a lot of food." Finished with the unpacking, she gingerly picks up her fork, all set to dig in.

"Wait-what are you doing?" He asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"In some cultures, this is called _digging in_." She responds, smirking, and the corners of his mouth tip into a smile. For a fraction of a second she thinks he might go for the full-fledged version, but after a moment his good humor in his eyes is replaced with a numb sheen.

"Why didn't you eat before?" He asks slowly, intentionally.

"Because I was cooking." She responds through a mouthful of stuffing. "You have to try this. I'm a sheer genius. Move over Paul Newman." She smiles up at him, motioning for him to eat, but he doesn't. His eyes are trained on her, his expression incredulous.

"You're telling me you haven't eaten all day. Why?"

"The idea was to eat with _you_. That's what Thanksgiving's about…not being alone?" She glances around the suite. "Unless you're hiding a certain still married skank somewhere around here, you're failing miserably on the concept."

"Veronica-and don't get me wrong here, the idea that you brought all this over here for me…well, it just touches me deep inside." But even as he's pressing his palms against his heart, his tone is cutting, and as their eyes catch, neither is able to look away. "But you hate me, remember? You broke up with me while on your quest for normalcy! You started dating Duncan-who despite his quirks is the definition of the word itself! You have no reason to be here right now." He stands, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn't want her to see that they're shaking. "So you can go." He points towards the door, and is surprised when she doesn't immediately spring to her feet. When she does stand, he's shocked to discover that there are tears in shining in her eyes.

"I don't hate you, Logan. I never did." Her voice is low, and her cheeks are reddening from the tears. "I won't stand here and tell you what I think you did wrong. Or what I did wrong. There isn't enough time in the world. But not everything is black and white. And I didn't want you to be alone on Thanksgiving." She smiles wanly, and turns to go, her shoulders slumping. He feels his heart breaking as she nears the door, and he calls her name even before he's realized it.

"Thank you." He mumbles, stepping closer to her, his eyes trained on the ground.

"You're welcome." She responds, biting her lip. Touching him lightly on the arm, she sighs almost inaudibly, and cracks open the door.

"Why did you come here?" He asks as she is almost gone, and when she doesn't immediately respond, he shakes his head, turning back into the room.

"Because Duncan isn't really in Napa." She offers, and he spins around, his eyes wide.

"What? Of course he is. I saw him pack and put the suitcases in the car."

"He's visiting Meg. I guess he still feels guilty…or _something_." Her voice drops with the last words, and Logan cringes.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know." He offers, but she shrugs again, a dull shade of numb coloring her own eyes and mirroring his own.

"I don't think he meant you to. He's been visiting her for so long…every day…" She trails off, and laughs a little scornfully. "So I guess not so perfect after all." Her words startle him.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you. The lack of stability in my life is not _entirely_ your fault." A horrified giggle escapes her lips at his words, and she shakes her head slowly.

"I just didn't want you to be alone. There. I think I've now officially said the words so many times they don't mean anything anymore. Enjoy the food. I really am a culinary genius." She smiles, turning away, and heads towards the elevators, only turning back to face him once she's reached them. She lifts her hand in a wave, and he smiles back. They have finally gotten their goodbye.

A/N: Ok, I realize that now Thanksgiving is _officially_ over, but I've been working on this since I got home at 9! So you have to cut me a break! So many people have been writing Logan/V Thanksgiving angst, that I was jealous and didn't want to be left out, so here is my contribution to the mix. I personally love it, and I hope you guys enjoy it as well. It's pretty much a one-shot, but I might use this version of Logan/Veronica in a later story. Who knows. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
